Poetry | Passion | Nature

I dream of spirit
 floating on 
a brilliant trail of sparks; 
a whiff of petrichor
rising from the desert floor;
as soft white petals
unfurl in her heart;
a choice is made.

Passion is a long slow burn;
the smell of heat
that lingers on their fingertips. 
She stepped into his light
with eyes wide open 
hands unclenched.

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